The Cold War
by dragonteacup
Summary: What if the cause of the Cold War was a breakup between America and Russia? This story explores that idea. T for slight language and one misunderstanding about French food.


**Based off a random idea I got late one night. I hope you like it! This is probably the longest thing I have up here.**

**The way in which the governments of the countries are portrayed in this fic in no way reflects the way they actually were in real life; I simply applied my own understanding of the motives behind the Cold War to my writing, and all I know is what I learned from Google and history class in 8th grade.**

"I can't stand you!" Alfred shouted, storming through the entryway of Ivan's house, grabbing his bomber jacket and keys. "I'm leaving!"  
"Alfred, самый дорогой, wait," Ivan pleaded, the Russian's usually stoic demeanor slipping, "it's my boss, it's not me. Я обещаю."  
"I don't care, Ivan. Reason with him! You're a _country_, dammit!" Alfred shouted. "And until you do, consider us broken up!"  
The door to Alfred's Jeep slammed shut and his car screeched away.

Ten seconds later, Alfred was kicking himself. He had nowhere else to go besides back to Ivan's house. He had sold his apartment to be with the Russian man.  
The only other place he had to go to was...  
Arthur's.

Arthur pulled up in front of Arthur's two-story Victorian with surprising regard for the British man's mailbox.  
"Arthur?" He called, pressing the doorbell. He listened as it chimed dimly inside the house.  
"Alfred?" Arthur said, opening the door. "Lad? Where's Ivan?"  
Alfred rolled his eyes. "Starting a damn war is where _he_ is," he spat. "Bastard won't even try to reason with his boss! So we broke up."  
Arthur sighed. "Come in then, lad."  
Alfred stepped into the house, marveling at how much it had changed since he lived there.  
"Where's Petey?" He asked, noticing the lack of Arthur's latest child.  
"Oh...he ran away.." Arthur said quietly.  
"And you didn't look for him?" Alfred asked.  
"He declared himself independent." Arthur replied. "Not much I could do. Now sit down, lad. I have a phone call to make."  
Alfred sat down on the nearest sofa and waited while Arthur disappeared into the kitchen.  
"Yes...Is this Ivan? Oh, hello, Natalia. Is Ivan there? I'd like to speak to him. Thank you, yes. Ivan? It's Arthur. It's about Alfred. You don't want to talk about him? Will you speak to him? No? All right. Thank you, goodbye."  
Arthur reemerged from the kitchen, his brow creased."He refuses to speak to you."  
"Yeah. We're broken up."  
"You may have made the potential war worse, lad."  
"So? I'll fight it and win. I always have."  
"You don't get it, lad. You're both superpowers, you cancel each other out. Simple science. Two equal forces always cancel each other out."  
"This isn't science, this is war. And I _win_ war."  
Arthur sighed. "You can have the guest room, but I expect you to fix this catastrophe."  
"Fine, fine." Alfred groaned. "I'll have you know that I'm not your colony anymore, Papa. I'm a fully functioning superpower nation."  
"You may be a nation, but you'll always be my little boy, lad." Arthur replied. "I love you, you little git."  
"You too," Alfred smiled. "Say, how's stuff with Francis?"  
"And _that_ is none of your business, lad." Arthur said primly. "Now, I expect that you left all your clothes at Ivan's, so you may borrow some of my clothes until you go get yours. And Francis is coming over to make dinner, so go get washed up. Get!"

When Alfred returned, he found Francis cooking something over the stove that involved lots of wine while Arthur sat and glowered at the Frenchman's back.  
"Alfred! Cherie!" He cried. "Where is Mathieu? How is mon fils?"  
"He's...Canadian." Alfred muttered.  
"And how are you? Where is Ivan?"  
"WHY is that the first thing _everyone _asks me?!" Alfred cried. "We're not joined at the fucking hip! I can go places without him!"  
"Well, you both usually go everywhere together, and furthermore, you two are very nice together." Francis replied frankly. "Now, where is that Russe?"  
"We broke up." Alfred said. "He was being a spineless bastard."  
Francis gave a dramatic sigh. "Was it his boss?"  
"He _said_ it was."  
"Cherie, sometimes the goals of the boss circumvent the goals of the country. Why don't you forgive him?"  
"He's refusing to speak to Alfred now," Arthur cut in.  
"Mon Dieu, this is a fix. Oh well, give it time." Francis cut off the stove burner. "Plates, Arthur, mon amour," he said.  
"What are we eating?" Alfred asked. "Looks weird."  
"This is none of your classless American food!" Francis proclaimed. "We're eating coq au vin."  
"Cock in what?" Alfred grimaced.  
"Chicken with wine, lad," Arthur said. "Honestly."

Alfred stood under the shower's hot spray, his face upturned. What was he _doing_...  
Arthur knocked on the door. "Okay in there, lad? Haven't drowned?"  
"No.." Alfred whispered.  
"Okay. Just so you know, we're watching TV downstairs. Some awful French film. Alright?"  
"Okay..."  
He heard Arthur walk away.  
"I'm a piece of shit.." he whispered.

Midnight found him wide awake, craving ice cream. It was Ivan's favorite thing besides vodka. Many a night, the Russian had woken Alfred with a half-smile and a tub of Ben & Jerry's and invited him to sit out on the balcony, wrapped in a blanket and staring up at the stars while eating a pint of chocolate ice cream.  
The memory of those nights made Alfred shiver.  
He wrapped his quilt round his shoulders and padded down the stairs to the kitchen.  
He swung open the freezer door, pulling out the unopened tub of vanilla that lay there, and walked out the front door to sit on the porch.  
"Miss you..." he whispered.

"It's been a week," Arthur announced. "You could at least call him to get your things back, Alfred."  
"Fine," Alfred replied, "I'll call him."  
"Phone's in the kitchen, lad."  
Alfred tentatively dialed Ivan's number. His hands were shaking, and he listened to the dial tone with bated breath.  
" Да, привет?"  
Alfred gasped."I-Ivan?"  
"I do not wish to speak with you, Alfred. Goodbye," The Russian said curtly.  
"Wait! I-I only called you to see if I could get my things back!"  
"Come by at lunch. I will have your things waiting for you," Ivan replied, and hung up.

Alfred pulled up in front of Ivan's house and got out of his Jeep. Boxes of his things sat on Ivan's porch, but the Russian man was nowhere to be seen.  
Arthur silently collected his things and left.

Inside the G8 meeting room, many chairs were empty. Ludwig was gone, unable to cope with the loss of his brother behind the Berlin wall. Berwald, Tino, Vash and Roderich refused to participate.  
Alfred was supposed to lead this thing. After all, it was all pretty much his fault.

Years had passed. Alfred had stopped wanting to speak to Ivan. His guilt had faded gradually until it didn't exist anymore.  
It didn't really help that all of Alfred's bosses had encouraged this, so intent on fostering hatred of the communist nation. But then again, everyone's bosses hated the communists nowadays.

Alfred pressed Kiku's body underneath his, their lips moving together in a deep kiss.  
"I really like you," he gasped out breathlessly when they broke apart, "let's be more than allies?"  
Kiku blinked up at him. "But what about Ivan, Alfred-san?" he asked, his deep dark eyes earnest.  
"Screw Ivan! We're not speaking and this is what this whole war is about!"  
"You don't think it's a bit silly to drag the world into your feud...?" the tiny Japanese man ventured softly.  
Alfred's eyes darkened. "I changed my mind," he scowled, and turned away.  
Kiku turned his gaze to the ground. "Baka..!" He muttered to himself.

This new boss was unlike all the others. This president wanted to mend things with Ivan and his boss.  
Alfred wasn't sure he liked this.

"The Cold war is ending," Alfred announced.  
"Good," said Feliciano, who was usually quiet. "Maybe Doitsu can get his land back. And we can all stop fighting."  
"What would you know about fighting!?" Alfred cried. "All you do is surrender all the damn time!"  
"Alfred!" Arthur yelled. "Stop that! We are all tired of this petty fight! Perhaps it is high time you ended this!"  
"Yes," Kiku piped in. "I do miss Yao, and all of the people who would be here if not for this."  
Alfred slammed his fist on the table. "All of you are idiots!"  
They don't know..., he thought as he ran from the room.

_"I can't talk to you anymore," Ivan said abruptly.  
Alfred looked up from his toast. "What?"  
"My boss-"  
Alfred jumped up. "What did you say, Ivan?!"  
" I can't-"  
"Shut up, Ivan! You're always like this, doing exactly what your boss says!" Alfred shouted.  
" самый дорогой, please, just listen-" Ivan pleaded.  
"No, Ivan!" Alfred spat, stalking out of the room. "I can't stand you! I'm leaving!"_

"Alfred?"  
Alfred looked up to see Arthur kneeling in front of him. The Englishman looked uncharacteristically concerned.  
"What?" he asked.  
Arthur took a seat beside him on the floor.  
"What was your fight about, lad?" he asked.  
"I-It was silly...," he muttered.  
"Everyone has silly fights. Even Francis and I."  
"Just in case centuries of silly fights aren't enough proof," Alfred muttered.  
"None of that, lad," Arthur scolded. "Now tell me."  
"He...said his boss told him he couldn't talk to me anymore...I got really mad..."  
Arthur patted him on the back. "Listen to your boss, alright? That's what you need to do more of. Now come on, there's a G8 meeting waiting on us."

Alfred couldn't remember ever feeling this shy in his entire life.  
Ivan stood in front of him, alone and...and _there_...for the first time in years.  
"Ivan...," he said quietly.  
"Alfred," Ivan replied flatly.  
He took a step forward. "I missed you so much..."  
Ivan moved closer, closing the distance between them and wrapping his arms around the smaller American.  
" самый дорогой, I missed you too, I shouldn't have let you leave...," Ivan whispered in Alfred's ear. The bigger man began to murmur strings of Russian to Alfred, his voice uncharacteristically broken.  
"Ivan, stop!" Alfred interrupted.  
The Russian looked up. "What?" he asked, frost creeping back into his tone.  
"It's..._me_ who should be apologizing, Ivan. I was stupid..," Alfred admitted, his face burning.  
Ivan kissed Alfred on the nose. "I forgive you, самый дорогой. I am just glad this war is over."  
"I'm glad too..," Alfred murmured, nestling in Ivan's arms. "Me too."

**Notes:**

**самый дорогой- dearest**

**Я обещаю- I promise**

**Да, привет?- yes, hello?**

**Vash- Switzerland**

**I probably took some historical liberties...any glaring mistakes of any kind should be reported so I can fix them. Thanks! **

**Comments make me really happy and spur me to write. Prompts are also welcome.**


End file.
